The last two mornings I’ve only been able to see the moon through the branches of my neighbor’s tree. It looks so promising and bright, and I crane my neck this way or that way to get a good look from different parts of my house. I write about the moon, and I read about the moon in posts from astrologer friends all over the world. And so when I can’t see the moon full-on it feels like a secret I can only hear parts of; two right numbers in a lottery ticket I was pretty sure would win.

This morning I put on shoes with my pajamas and go outside to get a straight look at the moon. I have to walk three houses down – past the tree and several rows of wires – before I can finally just see the moon. Not the moon over the Eiffel Tower or the moon over a vast safari, but the moon over my neighbor’s house in Queens. Me in mismatched pajamas, with wild hair and morning breath.

In the sky there’s a feeling of not-quite-right – a feeling we’re not where or what we could be.

As the moon enters the sign of Aries today at 12:35 p.m., some small movement compels us a bit closer to a goal. Tomorrow when Mercury reaches the degree of the last new moon, we’ll be able to see something more clearly. On October 8th when Mars finally passes the degree it turned retrograde in June, we’ll be able to move more decisively. But today at some point and in some small way, we just need to leave our own house.

Mars stations direct at 10:04 a.m. EDT after two months in retrograde. This morning the Pisces moon joined Neptune.

Neptune is the part of us that follows inspiration and goes with the flow. Neptune doesn’t make plans: It would rather have a drink or a nap or five minutes in a spacey zone. But Neptune is also the part of us that takes on other people’s stuff. Neptune has no boundaries. It lets in everything, and everything becomes us.

While I was writing this morning, I heard Langston typing loudly in the same room and I lost my train of thought. I snapped at him. He snapped back and went upstairs, and I regretted it. That’s Neptune and Mars showing up in our home. I’m trying to enter a spiritual space, but first let me yell at my husband.

Lang and I apologized to each other, imperfectly, and hours later I'm finishing this piece. Because God has a sense of humor, where I am now is even noisier: Excited chatter fills the hallway; three feet next to me, workers hammer in a new floor.

It's that kind of day, at least for me, but it's important to me to finish. And so I will -- albeit imperfectly, too.